5. Chapter 5
We walked outside to my Audi and I eyed Jack as he briefly inspected the car. Would he insist he be the one to drive? I opened the driver’s door and he got in the passenger’s side without complaint. Good.
Jack adjusted his seat to accommodate his long legs. “Have you looked into the victim yet?”
“No.” Guilt welled up inside me. Someone had died because she’d been mistaken for me, and I hadn’t even learned her name. Maybe I should write to her family or something. “I don’t know if the police have even figured out her identity yet. It’s hard to identify a body that looks exactly like mine.”
“Wouldn’t the illusion fade when she died?”
“Not if somebody else was the one to cast it.”
He frowned. “That’s okay, we’ll set that aside for the moment. Why might someone want to kill you?”
“Number one on my list is the owner of an antique store where I bought a mirror who was at the party last night. He left before the body was discovered, but he could have killed her and slipped out before anyone noticed.”
“What would his motive be?”
“He’s furious at me because I bought a mirror he didn’t want to sell me, and I wouldn’t give it back when he asked. The mirror is missing now, which means he probably stole it back. I want to question him.”
Jack straightened but he didn’t try to talk me out of it. “Okay, we’ll be extra careful there. Why else might someone want to kill you?”
I clenched the steering wheel a little tighter.
“I guess it could have something to do with the fact that my murderous sister accidentally killed a man while trying to set me up with Darcy. Or that she tried more than once to kill a witch. Witches are a tight-knit, loyal bunch—any one of them could want me dead.”
He rubbed one hand over his chiseled jaw. “Were there any witches at the party?”
“At least one—Elizabeth Bennet. Well, she’s half-witch, half-fae. She’s staying at Netherfield for a while with her sister Jane, who’s recovering from a pretty serious injury.”
“Are they the ones your sister almost killed?”
“Yes. But I seriously doubt it was either of them.”
“I wouldn’t rule that out, but the motive could also be more mundane. What if the killer was after your money?”
I scoffed. “Then they should have read more gossip columns. It’s not exactly a secret that I was disowned last year. Envy did a two-page spread about it.”
He frowned. “Why did your father disown you?”
I snapped a glamour over my face that would mimic my movements but wouldn’t allow any emotion to slip through.
“Because I fell in love with a poor man, a magical artifact restorer. He asked me to marry him and I said yes, but my father told me I had to break it off or be disowned. I chose my fiancé and my father followed through with his threat.”
“What happened to your fiancé?” Jack asked, glancing at my empty ring finger wrapped around the steering wheel.
I spoke slowly, tightly controlling my voice and limiting my inflection to sound matter-of-fact, almost bored. “When I told him I wouldn’t be getting any money from my family, he left me.”
Jack’s voice was low and strained. “He broke up with you because you were disinherited.”
It wasn’t a question, but I answered it anyway. “Yes.” I hated how small my voice sounded.
Jack took a breath, about to offer me sympathies, but I cut him off before he could speak.
“The only money I have for the killer to steal is a result of Charles’s generosity.
But once I get this interior design business going, I’ll make enough to support myself in comfort.
I’ll pay Charles back, and then I’ll make it so I don’t have to rely on anyone else ever again. ”
“I’m so sorry,” he said softly.
I shrugged. “You’re lucky you don’t have so much money that people will use you for it.”
He took a breath as though he might say more, but I turned on the radio and kept my eyes on the road.
The trees lining the street had begun releasing their hold on their leaves and great heaps of them were piled on the side of the street.
I found a free space right in front of The Trinket Trove and tried to hide how pleased I was with myself as I expertly parallel-parked.
I was an inconsistent parker—half the time I parked with no problems and the other half I spent five minutes reversing, inching forward, and repeating.
Jack scanned the road and the buildings across the street as we approached the building. A hand-written sign taped to the door read, Gone to an estate sale in Ashford, be back by noon .
“Ooooh, an estate sale. Want to kill two birds with one stone?” I asked.
“Anywhere you want to go. You’re the boss.”
I tossed my hair. “We’ll head to Ashford and question Mr. McFarland while we’re there. And maybe do some shopping, if the estate sale is any good.”
“Sounds good.”
Since I had sworn off asking Charles for more money, we would be taking the ferry to the charming little island rather than chartering a boat. The wind picked up as I parked in the ferry parking lot and paid for two tickets, eyeing Jack’s frown.
“Something wrong?”
“I’m not used to being paid for, especially by a beautiful woman.”
I rolled my eyes. “I appreciate the gentlemanly impulse, but don’t forget, this is not a date.”
The smug look returned to his handsome face. “Oh, I know. There’s no way either of us would forget that fact if it were.”
My heart rate ticked up, but I didn’t let him see how his flirtation affected me.
The line moved forward and we followed the crowd onto the ferry, where a group of college kids beat us to the rail.
The indoor lounge was sure to be crowded and the weather was nice, so I chose a little bench on deck.
Jack stood behind me, watching the people around us.
A part of me felt comforted knowing that even if a murderer was after me, he had my back.
The ferry’s engine rumbled to life and a long, low blast from the horn filled the air as we pulled away from the mainland. I drew in a deep breath of salty sea air as the wind whipped through my hair. I should have braided it; it was sure to be in tangles by the time we reached the shore.
I carried an anxious energy with me that made it impossible for me to relax on the boat ride over. How would Mr. McFarland react when I confronted him? I wasn’t really expecting him to confess, but if he did, I could solve the crime before the police. That would feel amazing.
The island came into view, at first a blur of greens and reds.
As we neared the shore, vacation homes and little shops lining the shoreline came into view.
The leaves on the trees were uniformly gold and glinted in the sunlight.
It was chillier here than it had been in Austen Heights, and I suppressed a shiver.
We disembarked onto a cobblestone street lined with cute little shops. The city ordinances didn’t allow chain stores to set up business, so every store was independently owned.
My shoe rubbed uncomfortably against my heel as I strode down the street, but I ignored it as I stepped into a little bakery. A short, plump lesser-fae female smiled at me from behind the counter. “Good morning. I’m afraid the donuts are sold out, but I’ve got pastries fresh out of the oven.”
“I’ll take two,” I said.
She wrapped them in a little waxed paper bag and handed them to me.
“Thanks. I heard there was an estate sale here today, do you happen to know where it is?”
“Sure do. It’s not quite a mile from here.” She laughed. “Though on an island like this, the farthest anything can ever be is three miles.” She wrote down an address for me and I handed one of the pastries to Jack.
“Not sure I should be eating on duty,” he said.
I plopped down at one of three little booths, my back to the door. “Here, you sit across from me so you can see the whole room and eat your pastry.”
He obliged, though he wolfed down his pastry in three bites.
I squinted in the bright sunlight as we left the shop.
The street was sheltered by charming little shops with weathered cedar shakes and a vibe that suggested maritime without being overly themed.
We passed an elegant, pale-blue building whose windows displayed paintings—some coastal landscape, some modern, and some more classical in style.
I sighed. An art gallery. Why couldn’t Netherfield have been built in Ashford?
Two ladies who were walking across the street stopped and gaped at us. I couldn’t blame them, Jack and I made an especially attractive couple. Not that we were a couple. We were an exceptionally attractive pair of people. I smiled, but it quickly faded when I heard the word “murderer.”
“Why would she do it?” one of them asked, not bothering to keep her voice down.
“Because that one, the little sister, was in love with the prince, so she tried to eliminate the competition.”
“That’s disgusting. And it looks like she’s moved right on to someone else when she couldn’t have him.” They both glared at me as they passed.
“Don’t listen to them,” Jack said.
“I’m not,” I lied.
He gave me an I’m-not-buying-it look.
“Okay, fine,” I said, not even sure why I bothered to defend myself. “I don’t know what came over Louisa or why she thought I was in love with Darcy. I’m not.”
“It wouldn’t even matter if you were; you are not responsible for your sister’s actions.”
I appreciated the sentiment, though I was still annoyed by those snotty gossips. How would they react if they knew that Darcy, the slightly cranky, effortlessly suave man staying in Austen Heights was actually the prince?”
We reached the address of the estate sale, a white colonial-style house with black shutters and a tastefully manicured front lawn that must have been enchanted to retain such a green hue this late in the season. A gentle water feature murmured softly on the right side of the front entrance.
“Uh oh,” I said, walking up to the front door. “The fountain is on the wrong side of the door.”